


like you never had wings

by ToAStranger



Series: you were on fire [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is seeing someone in New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like you never had wings

**Author's Note:**

> Shh... It's a secret.

It is the light that wakes Stiles. The sky is still pink, sun flooding through the vast window that expands practically from wall to wall in the suite’s bedroom. Stiles blinks, toes curling, and finds his body aching in sweet ways that reminds him of the night before. He hums.

Stiles stretches, languid and slow, beneath soft sheets as he rolls over. A warm hand slides over his hip, tugs him back, and then slips around and up—palm gentle as it slides up Stiles’ abdomen. Stiles laughs, tilting his head over as a hot mouth presses lazy kisses up his shoulder to his neck. He laces their fingers lazily over his belly.

“Where in the world do you think you’re going?” Words whispered against Stiles’ skin.

“Luke,” Stiles chides, but he’s smiling. “I have a flight to catch.”

“Do you?” he asks, grin wide against the crook of Stiles’ neck.

“Yes,” Stiles laughs again, shivering as teeth graze just below his ear.

Luke clucks his tongue, propping himself up onto his elbow in order to peer down at Stiles. Twisting over onto his back, Stiles grins up at him, fingers gentle across Luke’s cheek.

“Morning,” he mutters, guiding him down into a lazy kiss.

Luke pulls away a moment later, jaw flexing. “You should leave before I try and keep you here forever.”

“Would you?” Stiles asks, fingers sinking into the dark mess of Luke’s hair, tangling in the length of it. “How would you do that?”

“Shackle you to the bed. Never let you leave.” Luke tells him.

“Creepy,” Stiles waggles his brows. “You know just the right thing to say.”

He rolls his eyes as Stiles bites back a laugh. Instead of replying, he leans down and kisses Stiles again. When he pulls back, the high angles of Stiles’ cheeks are rosy.

“You have a flight to catch, don’t you, love?”

Stiles groans as Luke rolls away from him, leaving him shivering. “You’re terrible.”

“Yes,” Luke says, pushing to his feet, and Stiles props himself up to watch the way he moves, the way his muscles flex, the way his bare skin looks painted in the golden hues of the morning light. “But that’s why you like me so much, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles shrugs a shoulder. “That and you fuck me like it’s the last night on earth.”

Luke grins, teeth sharp as he glances over at Stiles, pulling on a silk robe and tying it off loosely; Stiles is sad to see all of that skin disappear. “Sometimes I fuck you like it’s the last _day_ on earth.”

“Point,” Stiles smiles, pushing up until the sheets are pooled around his hips.

Luke crawls back onto the bed with him, sliding a hand along his jaw and kissing him fleetingly. Dreamy and dazed, Stiles hums.

“You gonna cut your hair while I’m gone?” Stiles asks.

“Never,” Luke shakes his head.

“You gonna maim anyone?”

“No promises,” Luke tilts his head, kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

Turning his face, Stiles catches his lips, and their tongues meet—slick heat kindling something even hotter. Luke wraps his arms around him, twists, and pulls Stiles into his lap as he leans back against an extravagant cherry oak headboard. Straddling his hips, Stiles presses flush against him, arms draping over Luke’s shoulders.

They rock and rut, the silk of Luke’s robe pulled open at some point between one kiss and the next, until they’re both breathless and fervent. Stiles leaves angry red lines over Luke’s shoulders, and he doesn’t even get huffy when they heal almost instantly. The grip Luke takes over Stiles’ hips is nearly bruising—which wouldn’t be the first time—as they let friction do its job. Stiles reaches his peak first, gasping and arching, and Luke follows soon after, eyes bright and avid on him the entire time.

After, they sit there, catching their breath. Stiles’ nose presses against Luke’s temple as he gasps in soft, short breaths. Luke pets over his hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles.

“I really do have to get gone,” Stiles mumbles.

“I know,” Luke sighs. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”

“Aw,” Stiles smiles. “You really do care.”

Luke gives him a dry look. “Did you pack the papers?”

Stiles slumps. “Yes, professor, I’ll remember to grade those papers.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite TA,” Luke pecks him on the cheek, then leans over, groping the bedside table open and tugging out a gold relic of a necklace.

“I know I am,” Stiles chirps primly, then blinks as Luke places the necklace around his neck. “Um.”

“A gift,” Luke says. “And a claim.”

Stiles looks at it, brows pinched, plucking it up where it lays heavy against his collar and smoothing his thumb over the green stone at the center. “A claim,” he says dumbly.

“Just in case,” Luke assures. “You’re flying across the country. I just want to ensure your safety.”

“And this will keep me safe?”

“Yes,” Luke smiles, something in his eyes gleaming, secretive and bemused. “I believe it just might.”

Stiles huffs. “Fucking werewolves.”

* * *

Stiles gets home and everything is fine for twenty-four hours before it goes to shit. Kind of.

He goes to Derek’s loft, to the pack meeting, and finds himself on the end of a rather heated interrogation. Derek looks a bit like Stiles betrayed him—or kicked his puppy. He smells like another wolf, like another Alpha, and the rest of the pack is agitated the second he walks through the door.

It’s Peter that brings everything to a stuttering halt when he crowds close, plucking up the pendant that has been peeking out from the between the edges of his unbuttoned Henley. His fingers are careful and his eyes are wide.

“Stiles,” he breathes, and even Derek has stopped glaring. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”


End file.
